The Therteenth Child

All the thugs were down accept one. The wounded thug, a skinny man with a round head and a swastika tattooed on his bald head, cluched his bleeding kneecap. Red released his grip on his human shield and the now dead thug fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He approched the injured thug and, grabbing him by the arm that cluched his missing kneecap, lifted him on his feet. The thug cryed out in pain as the sudden preasure on his leg sent such pain through his body that he felt like could pass out right there and then.

"Where is your boss" Red distorted voice rang through the room.

The thug's bottom lip quivered as he struggled with the disigion of eather being defiant or cooperative. Red felt the need to help him in the desigion.

He slammed his boot to the side of the thugs wounded leg and shatered it. The thug screamed even louder then befour as a bon fragment stuck out of the skinn f his shin now.

"Do not make ask you again, I beg you" said Red, his voice filled with dark promise.

"Alright... alright... oh god..... The Mistress's private chambers are at the end of the corridor through that door" a shaking finger pointed at a door on the other side of room "She spends most of her time there when she come here to check up on us. Th-there also that guy..... big guy in S&M gear. She always keeps him around when she's here."

The thug looked at Gwharr "He's almost as big as your caveman pet".

Red has heared enough. The guy had the balls to call his companion "pet" when Gwahrr showed that he was more human then him in a lot of situations during there little endever. Red's hands shot up and grasped the thugs head between them. With one quick twist, the thug's neck snaped and he fell dead to the floor.

"He's not my pet. He's my partner" he spoke to the thug even though he knew he was capable of hearing him anymore.

He turned to Gwharr and gestured for him to come "Let's get moveing" he said and started for the door to the corridore.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk" The gargantuan Caveman said as he shook his head when looking down on the recently killed thug. Its broken neck made his face look straight up at the roof, despite being flat on his belly. Killing poeple in cold blood like that for nothing but a poorly-concieved insult was just plain unnessecary. His companion was clearly overreacting when it came to this sort of thing, and it was definately not the first time it happened either. Gwharr did not approve of it, mainly because he was used to be the impatient one that did rash things, that had to be held back by his packmates. He rarely had to be the 'mature' one like this. He snorted as he looked back up.

"To stop killing ones that surrender. To not be proper. It make Gwharr annoyed." The Carnivorous, Crabby, Caveman grunted angrily as he and the Red hunter moved forward. He was pretty sure he had told him this one before, but he figured that the Red Hunter wasn't going to pay him much heed this time too. He could probably make his companion do whatever he wanted him to do with the aid of good ol'fshioned physical violence, but he suspected that such an action could very well be the end of their newfound friendship.

Gwharr grinned slightly "To think you'se too angry. Next time, no break neck, break arm. To have noticed people usually apologize if break arm." The caveman said before letting out an almost santa-like good-natured chuckle, wich sounded oddly innapropriate when combined with his inhumanly deep voice.

Gwharr quickly took point, and did not even bother asking Red what he thought about it. It was simply better if the invulnerable one moved first, so that he could take any attack that might be harmfull or even lethal to their less durable companion. This time, Gwharr did not even bother to smash the door in this time, he merely rushed straight through it, the wood and drywall splintering as he forced his way through into the corridor. . .

Time to get dangerous!

Red stormed through the hallway which was surprisingly empty. The walls and ceiling were made of brick and covered with old, torn up wall paper whose color faded away into a dull brownish grey with age. The door at the end of the hall contrasted greatly to the decrepit and old look of the rest of the hideout. The door was clean, polished and painted and had seemed to be very heavy and thick for a wooden door. Its edges were lined with metal; the door seemed to have a metal frame for extra strength. This was the only other reinforced door in the entire hideout and Red had a feeling it was there for a reason. Someone or something very important was on the other side and if the information they got so far was correct, Red will find the person responsible for the atrocities committed in that god forsaken place.
Red moved up to the door. When a he was about a few feet away from the door he slowed down and silently approached it, gesturing for Gwharr to do the same. He listened in to the words spoken on the other side. Two voices could be heard. One was a female voice with an Asian accent that seemed to overflow with confidence. The other was a male voice and Red recognized it almost instantly. It was the voice he listened in on way back in Westmoor, the voice he heard on audio recording take with his bug he placed inside the bastard’s apartment. The voice of the man who made him travel for miles and go to an unfamiliar city to finally catch him. Red’s fists seethed with rage but he managed to keep himself from busting down the door and spraying bullets all over the room, mowing down his prey. He turned slightly to Gwharr. He knew the big man couldn’t see it but Red was smiling at him. His last remarks made him think of Gwharr in a whole new light. He was starting to think that the big caveman had more heart than himself.
Well somebody had to.
He raised his hand and showed Gwhar two fingers and then he pointed at the door, trying to indicate that there were two people on the other side of it. He watched Gwharr’s face for any sign of understanding.

Gwharr Slowly followed the Red hunter, moving slightly more quietly than a church-mouse. A feat rather impressive for a caveman weighing aproximately five times more than The Red Hunter himself. His feet moved quickly but quietly, as did his massive, hairy knuckles. All of his appendages connected with the floor time and time again without making even one measly floorboard creak. Gwharr had already realized that they where aproaching the endgame. The final destination of their little trip down into the "hostile territory" ruled over by The Red Hunters child-molesting arch-nemesis and the elusive, torture-loving "mistress" The Red Hunter might consider him quite 'human' for a Primordial-American, but once he laid his hands on this so-called 'Mistress' he would show his companion just how savage and bloodthirsty he could be. What he had done to the thugs would pale in comparison. After all, he hadn't hated them as 'enthusiasticly' as he hated the one that had ordered them to perform all the cruelties. His eyes narrowed slightly and an inhumanly cruel grin formed on the cavemans primordial face. It was a grin that basically dripped of bloodlust, hatred and a the prospect of settling a rather bothersome score.

Gwharrs ears visibly perked as he heard the muffled voices on the other side of the door. A man and a woman. The male voice sounded fairly average. Nothing note-worthy, but the Female voice was a voice that had metaphorically been marinated in confidence and authority for quite some time. It was a voice that would simply not take a no for an answer. A voice so confident that the mere prospect of someone disagreeing with it was unthinkable to its owner. Even though Gwharr had heard the voices long before The Red Hunter decided to make him aware of the fact by utilizing the hand-signs, he still apreciated the gesture. Things like this was the staple of good teamwork within a pack. However, the gesture was still rather pointless. The only thing that The Red Hunter knew that Gwharr did not was that the woman had an asian accent, but even if Gwharr was aware of the fact, it probably would have very little bearing on his decision on what was to come next.

Gwharr clenched his fists, slowly moving past The Red Hunter, pointing at his fist, then at the door, trying to make his companion aware that he was basically going to play a rousing game of "punch the door of its hinges" with the door. He decided that he might as well take the lead, since he was the invulnerable one, and even though most of the mooks had already bitten the dust, these two might be opponents of a different calibre. . .

Gwharr doubled back, Punching the door with such power that it took a fair bit of the wall it was attatched to wit hit as it smashed into the opposite wall. Gwharr then rushed in, raoaring like a wild beast, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of his prey.

Red charged into the room, his gun drawn and ready. For a single moment he was surprised by the sight before him. The room was large and furnished like top class hotel sweet. The room, if it could even be called a room had everything. A king-sized double bed and an almost brand new coffin table with two leather armchairs and a sofa on one side of it and LCD wall TV on the other. The walls were graced by paintings which Red recognized almost instantly. A Rembrandt, a Van Gogh, a Salvatore Dali and allot of others. Two doors were visible from Red’s position, a bolted steel door and an older wooden door.

The so-called Slave was nowhere to be seen, but in the center of the room, sitting at polished oak desk was an Asian woman in dark grey business suit and thigh-long skirt. The Mistress, as she was called, radiated an aura of confidence that couldn’t be faked. She was a woman born to lead, Red deduced. It was a shame that she chose to lead these men. Red would make here regret her decision.

She sat almost casually in a black leather armchair while her pretty face was eliminated by the glow from her laptop in front of her. She appeared unfazed by the sudden appearance of the red clad vigilante and his savage companion. The person she spoke to wasn’t as calm as her. In fact he stared at the two intruders with fear and confusion constantly shifting his gaze from them to the Mistress. It was Brian all right. The short, middle aged man seemed to almost ignore Gwharr, as hard as it was, and stared into the three glowing red eyes of Red’s eyepiece.

“It’s him!” he said frantically, pointing a shaking finger at the man in Red.

The Mistress remained silent, her gaze leveled with the hateful gaze Red cased at her. Then she lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

Gwharr may not be all that knowledgable about interior decorating and such foibles, but he could tell the difference between 'Squalid, soon-to-be-condemned ruin' and 'Surprisingly lavish office-building' and this particurlar room leaned far into the latter, whilst the rest of the building seemed to be on the bad side of the former. However, having grown up in a cave, Gwharr considered both of the two alternatives to be far better than anything he was used to back from the olden days. The caveman snarled viciously as his eyes darted aroundthe room and it did not take too long for the Primitive Primordial Primate to count the heads of those present in this surprisingly cosy little room. The first one was a man in a surprisingly nice suite who looked terrified. This Gwharr was used to, but there was something very unusual about it nonetheless. He was terrified of The Red Hunter rather than Gwharr himself. Apparantly those two had some sort of history. It was propably the person that did unspeakable things to children, Red Hunters Enemy. Gwharr would leave the hunter to deal with this foe, then

The other one did seemed to be frail and small, and did not seem afraid. Something that Gwharr found very disturbing to say the least. Usually the small and frail women-types where the one that was most afraid. She was also nicely dressed and seemed to be on top of the situation, despite the rather dramatic entrance of the massive caveman and the Red Hunter. Gwharr roared loudly, beating his chest as she snapped her fingers in a disturbingly arrogant manner.

That was it! Not only had she killed people in particurlarly gruesome ways for money, kept them as slaves in the stories below and dumped their corpses in the sewers beneath the city to get away from any punishment, but she did not even have the gall to be ashamed of her horrific actions!? That was it! This bitch was going down! With a beastly roarGwhar leapt towards her, his massive arms outstretched, ready to rip her into tasty, baconsized shreds

Suddenly, writhing a split second, a sudden blur shot toward the frantic caveman. It was indistinguishable but Red was certain that something was there.

“Gwharr look out!!” It was too late though. A large hand, almost as big as Gwharr’s, grasped the leaping caveman by the shoulder and, with a powerful swing, threw him against the farthest wall. The man, if he could even be called a man, known as The Slave was standing where Gwharr had been a split second ago. Red’s eyes widened. The Slave was tall, about 7’2’’ and his massive muscles swelled and pulsed with his every heart beat. He wore a pair of tight black leather pants and a pair of belted boots. He wore nothing on top accept a pair of leather straps crisscrossing over his chest, a large, a spiked dog collar wrapped tightly around his neck and a full-face black leather mask with just a closed zipper where the mouth is and no eye holes. Red had to wonder how a man of his size and build could move so fast.
Unless he was a…

Red’s train of thought was interrupted when movement in his peripheral vision caused him to return to the situation at hand. He turned to see the Mistress leaping toward him, using her own desk as a sort of a spring board, a katana sword raised above her head. As the blade came down on his Red flexed his right wrist and his blade popped out. He raised his hand just in time as the Mistresses blade made impact with his own. Red’s block caused the Mistress to stagger a bit while the force her blow caused Red to nearly loose his balance as well. She quickly regained her bearing and swung at Red once more. Red, deciding that blocking might not be the best course of action now, dodged the Mistresses blade as it nicked the very edge of his shoulder pad. The gang leader sent a rapid sequence of swings which Red managed to dodge. The last swing though, cut into his shoulder, taking a small piece of skin.
The mistress smiled slightly, her eyes fixed onto her opponent “First blood to me”.

Gwharr heard the warning that Red Hunter had shouted out, but there was nothing he could do about it. When his tiny mind had processed the words enough to make sense out of them, He had already felt a large hand on his shoulder. A hand that was yanking him off his pre-decided path, flinging him through a wall with almost disturbing ease. Gwharr tumbled on the floor, quickly getting back up at his feet, gazing straight into the bloodshot eyes of the man that had kept him from hitting his designated target. The man in front of him was presumably a thinling, but somehow he was far bigger than any other thinling he had seen thus far. He was not the tallest, granted, but he probably had somewhere between sevenhundred and eighthundred pounds of muscle on his massive frame. It looked almost grotesque. He was masked, although Gwharr figured it was a pretty stupid idea to put on a mask if you looked like that. After all, someone was bound to recognize him by by size at any rate.

Gwharr was uninjured by the throw and quickly got back onto his feet, brushing assorted dust of plaster of his shoulders, and adjusting his hat slightly. . . Before giving of a bloodcurldling, ferocious roar whilst banging his chest viciously. The man in the leather-mask took a step back, shocked by the sheer ferocity of the cavemans display. Gwharr leapt at him, fists held high over his head, ready to smash him into a pulp on the floor, but the masked man was quicker, As Gwharrs fists descended he managed to dodge to the right before the fists hit the floor with enough force to cause it to smash the polished oak floorboard and concrete beneath them to bits.

The masked man wasted no time in grabbing ahold of Gwharr around the waist and expertly heaving him up, utilizing his superhuman strength to crush the ribcage of our beloved caveman. Gwharr waved his arms around frantically as he realized what was happening, seemingly having no idea how to free himself from the grip. The massive man then seemed to decide to utilize a wrestling-style suplex against the troublesome caveman, smashing gwharr head-first into the floor, causing the boards to crack visibly.

Gwharr collapsed into a heap as the grip was released, and was just about to get back up at his feet as the masked man kicked him straight in the face, with such power the caveman actually left the ground, smashing into roof before falling back down onto the earth again. The masked muscleman said something, but his rather disturbingly constructed mask muffled whatever it was he had to say. Although, the tone of voice suggested that it was some sort of Mocking.

Gwharr quickly rolled backwards, getting back onto his feet, preparing for round two. He had a slight scrape on his face, but it dissapeared almost instantly. He had learned two things about his opponent already. He was not quite as strong as gwharr, but he was a whole lot faster. Not to mention he was far morke skillfull when it came to fighting. Although this did not intimidate our stubborn hero. He still had his regeneration to get him back up on his feet time and time again. And sooner or later the other guy would get careless or he would get lucky. . .

“If you think you can come to my place of business and take me on, then you are a bigger fool then you look”.

Red wasn’t doing all that well himself. The Mistresses swings were so frequent and rapid that he only had time to dodge and not exchange a blow or two. He was getting tired while the Mistress showed no signs of fatigue. A small part of Red’s mind, the part that wasn’t distracted by the fight at hand, tried to analyze the situation. The Slave had to be a meta-human. The speed with which he moved was proof enough, but what really cemented the fact was the strength with which the Slave literally tossed Gwharr around. The Mistress slashed horizontally in an attempt to take Red’s head off. He ducked at the last moment and thrust his own blade forward. The Mistress moved to the side dodging a blow that would otherwise penetrate her belly.
Red was becoming frustrated slightly. There he was, covered with bleeding cuts while his opponent didn’t have a single scratch on her. His brow creased as he slashed at the Mistress again and again.

The wall into which Gwharr was thrown finally gave in and collapsed revealing the dark caverns housing the ancient foundations of New York City. Huge stone and brick pillars supported whatever was above them. Dank stone stalactites and stalagmites surrounded the pillars as the gathered paddles of water reflected the light coming from the room through the newly made hole.

Gwharr once again clenched his fists, snarling viciously at the man standing against him. The two of them locked eyes and glared defiantly at one another as Gwharr slowly approached the man, preffering to take it easy rather than to rush in, guns blazing once again. He had already understood that the masked man was good at dodging his initial attack and countering, utilizing his amazing speed and supperior fightingskill to its maximum potential. He was also a grappler, preffering close-proximity fighting and Gwharr had no desire to once more allow himself to be caught in a grapple by this opponent. No, this time he was going to utilize his superior reach to slow the man down before he went in with his full power again. Soften him up before the final blow, so to speak.

The masked man started to circle the caveman, and Gwharr started doing the same, moving in the same pattern as his opponent, making sure that the distance between them. When there was barely eight feet between them Gwharr took the charge. His ape-like proportionally oversized arms allowing him more than enough reach to throw a punch that the other man would not be able to counter that easily. Apparantly, the masked man was not ready for this one, judging by how his eyes widened slightly beneath the mask, but his superior speed and skill once again proved its superiority over Gwharrs reliance on brute strength. He managed to duck beneath the punch moving a step back to avoid the follow-up punch.

Gwharr moved forward, determined to press his advantage, throwing yet another punch with his other hand, however, this time the masked man was ready for it. He dodged aside, and quickly stepped forward, ending up facing Gwharr's side. Our primordial, primitive Pugalist was just about to turn around to face him, when the man once again showed off his trademark speed. He spun around, roundhouse-kicking Gwharr in the face with such force that the caveman was once again sent crashing into a wall. Gwharr slowly got up, the slight wound on his cheek from the masked man's kick visibly sealing shut in less than a second.

As Gwharr once again got back onto his feet he realized that this guy would not be beaten by a frontal assault like that, but had to be punched into submission using trickery. He therefore moved forward, throwing a punch similar to the one he had thrown just a few seconds before, but this time, he didn't use quite as much power, and took great care to not fully stretch his arm. The other guy once again tried the same method, dodging and stepping forward, but just as he was in position to deliver the roundhouse-kick Gwharr retracted his arm, hitting the man in the ribs with his elbow, sending him bouncing and bounding on the ground untill he hit yet another wall. The man groaned as he got up and a big, pink welt was forming on the left side of his torso, creating a pinkish stain on his otherwise flawless, slightly pale skin.

The man grunted in pain, seemingly getting angry. This time he was the one who went on the offensive, apparantly determined to end the caveman once and for all. Gwharr saw him comming and tried to lunge at him, to grab a hold of him, but the Masked man effortlessly dodged, even giving an arrogant chuckle as he did so. Before he had time to react the other man was behind him, with one of his massive palms on each side of his head, and with a foot skillfully placed on the backside of Gwharrs knee he forced the much bigger caveman onto his knees. with a great groan of effort the man started twisting, seemingly trying to break the caveman's neck Gwharr roared ferociously as his massive hands tried to grab ahold of the man, but failing. However, the neck of the caveman seemed to be far too tough for the masked man to break. . .

However, that was before the man placed one of his feet against the uppermost part of gwharrs back, pulling with his arms whilst pushing with his leg. And with yet another groan of effort, he succeeded. A loud "SNAP" echoed through the caverns as the cavemans neck broke. Another arrogant chuckle could be heard from the masked fiend as he turned around to go back to his closet to once again await his mistress orders.

However, Gwharr was not out of the game yet. Wit ha groan of pain, the caveman slowly and painfully stumbled back onto his feet, his head seemingly facing the wrong way. As he stood back up, swaying like a fir-tree in a stiff breeze, The masked man turned around, seemingly both horrified and fascinated by this sheer display of determination.

The caveman's head slowly started to move, looking almost as it was pulled back into the correct position by some unseen force, Accompanied by the crackling sound of his bones moving themselves back into their original psition and knitting back together.
Gwharr rubbed his neck slightly and once grinned at the shocked masked man before moving his head side to side, seemingly to check that everything was alright with his neck. It was. It was always alright once his regeneration had kicked in. He knew that, but he wanted the masked man to know that aswell. He wanted him to know, that this fight wasn't anything to chuckle about.

Gwharr grinned viciously, licking his lips. "Now, where where we?" The caveman said, his inhumanly deep, gravely voice low and dangerous as he quoted one of his favourite movies ever. This fight wasn't over yet! Ding-ding! Round two. . .

Red was backed up into a corner. Beside him was an old oak table with a lot of folders and papers strew about it's surface. He leaned against the table, tired and weary. The Mistress approached, equally tired but tried her best not to show it. Her sword was raised above her head, poised to deliver the killing blow to the intruder.

"I see that the rumors about were way off. You're just a broken man playing hero" a sadistic arrogant grin tightened her lips as she brought down the sword.

But then, suddenly Red moved out of the way and the blade sank three inches into the wooden table, jamming it self there. The Mistress, stunned by Red's sudden recuperation, tugged on the hilt trying to loosen the sword from from the thick wood. But before she could properly pull it out Red slammed the soul of his palm into her wrist and her grip loosened. She yelled in pain and staggered away from the table, clutching her aching wrist. Red reached forward and with one strong pull, the katana came loose.The Mistress looked at the Red Hunter, now holding her weapon. Behind all her anger, Red could see a sliver of fear forming in her eyes.Red pointed the sword at the Mistress mere inches from her neck. In the back ground, he could hear the sounds of battle between Gwharr and the gimp meta. Both of them were still at it.

"Call him off!" ordered Red, not taking his gaze away from the Mistress.